


Quality Of Magic

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Chikara (Professional Wrestling), Professional Wrestling
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Injury, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to a severe leg injury, UltraMantis Black has to retire from in-ring competition. But there is much left for him to do and he is determined and bound to achieve it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quality Of Magic

 

 

 

UltraMantis Black contemplated his reforged staff, currently propped up beside his crutches. His leg would take much time to heal and according to the doctors he had been forced to listen to, he wouldn’t ever be able to wrestle again. Thanks to the Devastation Corporation, for his own health, he would have to stop.

 

It was unthinkable.

 

And yet, here he was, drinking a particularly good cup of coffee – with soy milk of course – sat in his library on yet another quiet day. He had been shelving for most of the morning, dealing with the occasional customer, until now. His leg was aching badly. UltraMantis had used as much magic as possible to bring himself respite and healing. But there was only so much magic could do. And if he poured forth too much into his injured limb...well, UltraMantis already knew the pain of overexertion in the search of absolution, how feeble and drained he would be afterward, no doubt it would be worse given his current state, and there existed a few dark truths that UltraMantis had no wish to embody, despite ugly rumors that swore otherwise.

 

UltraMantis always had plans, never written down of course, complex far-reaching long-term plans. It was what set him apart from so many in Chikara – he thought ahead and beyond petty next-match concerns. How else could he achieve so much? Now he contemplated his current plans, the tasks left so incomplete. There was victory to come in Challenge of the Immortals of course and most prominently there was Hallowicked and Frightmare, once his strongest comrades, now so corrupted by a voice that had also somehow ensnared Blind Rage and Silver Ant, of all creatures. Silver Ant who had been a protégé of Mike Quackenbush, Chikara’s founding father and guiding light before the miracle of Icarus. Silver Ant who had always been a pure  _technico_ , born for such purpose, but his mind had been breached and now he wore new colors, moved with new resolve and prayed in a circle with Hallowicked and Frightmare, he prayed to an absent forbidding name. Nazmaldun. 

 

UltraMantis still sought to know more of him, the so-called Lord of Rot, Hallowicked’s master, he who was behind so much of what had befallen UltraMantis and so much of what had uplifted Hallowicked – he now had possession of the Grand Championship and a small but powerful growing army. But the name was still just a name, all UltraMantis had were Hallowicked’s words which Hallowicked clearly believed and drew strength from. How was such a powerful presence, his influence felt so keenly despite his constant physical absence, so invisible in the great resources that UltraMantis had always consulted and found answers in? It was unbelievable, this complete lack of knowledge. It gnawed away at UltraMantis at all hours of the day and night. He could not recall his last fulsome night’s sleep.

 

The greatest fault lay with Delirious though. The Eye of Tyr, the final mocking revenge that Delirious had been able to enact following UltraMantis’ glorious victory over him. It was unlikely that Delirious had planted any thoughts of Nazmaldun and his corrupting plague in Hallowicked’s mind, Delirious would have used such a powerful ally had he known of him. All Delirious had aimed for was Hallowicked and Frightmare turning on UltraMantis, so where had Nazmaldun lurched from? And what exactly, truthfully, was he?

 

Hallowicked was the Broadsword, Frightmare was the Dagger. Who wielded them?

 

UltraMantis now had more time to devote himself to answering such pertinent questions. He would no longer attain triumph in the ring. Such a thought still made his stomach and hands clench. He was no longer a wrestler. No, he still could not comprehend it.

 

He had been there at the beginning, alongside Mike Quackenbush, Hallowicked and Icarus. He had helped build Chikara. He had established great strong armies, rightly feared and conquering. He had won the King of Trios tournament. He had held Chikara in his grasp.

 

He had also lost his grip on such power. He had been betrayed. He had lost friends.

 

Then he had become one with the fans; he had felt the strength of their support and belief, he had heard their joy when he and the Spectral Envoy had won King of Trios. He had always aimed for worship, it was what he was owed and now, now the fans gave it so freely and in such powerful abundance. At last.

 

He had been aware of their supportive applause, soaking it in through his pain as the Batiri had carried him from the ring, his injured leg crushed by the Devastation Corporation. He had used such support integrally when enspelling his leg. He would use such support again.

 

Mike Quackenbush, Director of Fun and long-time acquaintance, perhaps they could even be termed friends now (what a bemusing thought), had visited UltraMantis in hospital and had told him he still had a place in Chikara. He could commentate and manage his Arcane Horde in Challenge of the Immortals, once his leg had healed. Of course he would. What would Chikara be without UltraMantis Black?

 

Mike Quackenbush had smiled at that and hadn’t disagreed. As well he shouldn’t.

 

UltraMantis would not see his plans forever incomplete, he would not. He had the Chikarmy and his Arcane Horde. Oleg the Usurper had freed himself from the Devastation Corporation; the Batiri – once created for UltraMantis and then swiftly his enemy – could be counted on during this tournament. There was much freely given, much to be repaid. UltraMantis had always believed that that was why he would truly stand above everyone in Chikara; because of all that he had done, because in the world of arcane arts, giving was essential in order to take. UltraMantis had heard outrageous doubts cast about him but such people were blind to all he had sacrificed in order to create and achieve great glories.

 

He could stand tall. Mike Quackenbush had suffered a terrible injury and yet he was now Director of Fun. Both he and UltraMantis wished to protect Chikara from forces like Hallowicked in his current grave state. Of course UltraMantis had his own ideas for what Chikara should be. But he knew its value, and after Icarus’s campaign and Chikara’s resurrection, he also knew the value of its fans, of the roster. He knew and had truly experienced how intention could change the quality of magic.

 

UltraMantis was in pain, he would be for some time. He had many questions yet to answer and retribution to see through. He had, as always, his own small but powerful army. He had his staff once more and his magic, his knowledge of that art, would only grow stronger as he dwelt on it. He had much to dwell on, not only were there questions to answer but he would also continue to seek a way to bring Hallowicked and Frightmare back to their true selves. Blind Rage too and Silver Ant. It was a powerful pervasive plague and UltraMantis would not allow Delirious such victory.

 

He missed his comrades, their stalwart company and conversation.

 

And yes, he saw Delirious’s absurdly obvious point – that there were untold ramifications when controlling another’s mind, unknown directions the mind could take and innumerable damage that was done to the one controlled. UltraMantis maintained still that done correctly, it could be a boon but only if reticent and with great attention to detail when attempting such a coup. Magic did not make exceptions. That did not mean Delirious was right. Never. And just what had Delirious said to Hallowicked when he had cast that spell with the Eye of Tyr?

 

UltraMantis took a deep breath. Even absent Delirious caused him trouble and frustration. And now UltraMantis would never feel the rush of physical victory, of great triumph in the ring, of vanquishing an opponent in such an obvious emphatic manner. But he had been forming plans for many years and a plan well-executed was a great immeasurable victory indeed. He knew that deeper than any other.

 

Hallowicked was a weapon, a broadsword for this Nazmaldun. But UltraMantis, he had been the weapon, the man leading the charge and the commander also. He would adjust, it might take time, but he would adjust. He would adapt because he refused to be vanquished. The physical pain in his leg would lessen but the ache that resided due to his retirement, his departure from the physicality of the world he had chosen to conquer, UltraMantis did not expect to lose that. He expected it to drive him, to be part of many spells. It was, after all, freely given.

 

And he refused to be incomplete.

 

_-the end_


End file.
